


Earthly Rewards

by foundCarcosa



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 19:24:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundCarcosa/pseuds/foundCarcosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do all first enchanters speak so shamelessly...?"</p><p>(I swear, this wasn't supposed to happen. it's actually all tumblr's fault...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Earthly Rewards

**i.**

Orsino had never cared for the Chant. It did have a certain rhythm, and at times a verse would stand out because of a turn of phrase or use of wording, and often he debated the meanings of particular verses with the knight-commander or the grand cleric just to keep his mind sharp… but he never _liked_ it.

It hung heavy around the necks of the devoted and weighted down their tongues. It was quoted sanctimoniously, viciously, used as fuel for damning fires, turned into barbs for lancing the unfaithful. It made devotees soft-minded, sending them running for the oaken walls of the Chantry when crisis struck. They were more likely to clasp their hands together in supplication to an unseeing god than take up a sword and fight for their beliefs.

But one of the most important ways to keep Meredith’s burning eye off him for the time being was to feign staunch belief in the Maker and his Bride, and for that cause only, Orsino found himself slipping into the back pew during the cleric’s devotionals.

Tonight he was much less inclined, his head swimming with the voices of apprentices who would speak no more, his extremities itchy and restless with his forced inaction. The cleric’s intonations grated against him, and the avid expressions of the congregated made him grind his teeth in annoyance. They had their nepenthe, their forget-me drug; Orsino was not given the luxury of drowning his sorrows in empty piety.

He bolted from his seat as soon as the vestals were completed, but a man in Chantry raiment slipped in front of him with the quicksilver grace of a sidewinder.  
“First Enchanter. A word?”

**ii.**

Sebastian Vael was not built like a brother of the Chantry, Orsino observed. His neck was a bit too thick, and his hands a bit too veined, as if they were accustomed to flexing around a dagger… no, not a dagger. Something else. Something swift and graceful, like him.

Underneath the robes, his shoulders were broad, and the sleeves tightened perceptively around thick biceps whenever he gestured or moved to scratch the back of his neck. Vaguely, Orsino traced the curve of Sebastian’s side in his mind’s eye, the lightly-defined flatness of his abdomen, the sharp hip bones giving way to—

“Are… you listening, First Enchanter?”

Orsino blinked, cleared his throat. “Yes. Yes, of course.” He couldn’t manage to keep the boredom out of his voice.

An indulgent smile curved Sebastian's lips, but there was a touch of impatience in those robin’s-egg eyes. “If I am keeping you from something of greater importance, please…”

“No, no. My apologies, Brother Vael, for appearing inattentive. I suppose I simply haven’t the… longsuffering of most Andrastians.”

Sebastian cocked his head. A few strands of rich brown hair detached themselves from their severe slick-back and brushed his temple. “ _Most_ Andrastians. That is to say, you still consider yourself one.”

“As far as Knight-Commander Meredith is concerned, I can out-chant the Grand Cleric.  
Look, I appreciate your attempts to… convert me, as it were, but I have no interest in making an honest man out of myself.  
But, a question, if I may.” When Sebastian, disappointment casting a slight pall over the brightness of his eyes, inclined his head, Orsino reached out and curled his hand around one of Sebastian’s arms, squeezing. “You aren’t a Chantry brother at all, are you, Serah Vael?”

**iii.**

“…So by rights, I do belong here. However…”

By the time Sebastian finished his redemption song, Orsino had traced the outline of the lad’s entire body in his mind’s eye, his fingers itching for a stick of charcoal and a stack of thick vellum.  
They didn’t let the apprentices study anatomy in lessons, but that had never stopped Orsino from doing so _outside_ of class.

“However?” he prompted — he’d mastered the art of listening whilst his mind sought more visual pleasures.

“I… think I may have been too hasty. I love the Maker and Andraste both, for all they have given me and all they will continue to give…”

“And so do I,” Orsino murmured, thinking of a corded arm flexing under his hand, but when Sebastian arched a thick eyebrow in questioning, he shook his head and waved at him to continue.

“The grand cleric says I have… a fiery heart. She thought time here would tame me, I suppose. But— ah, I don’t know why I am telling you all this. Surely you…”

“Have better things to do?” Orsino smirked dryly, thinking of Meredith’s disapproving gaze. “Absolutely not. I regret not having spoken with you before.”

When Sebastian cocked his head this time, smiling pleasantly, the rogue strands of hair fell across his forehead, and Orsino’s fingers twitched. “I could say the same.”

“Do all from Starkhaven sound like you?” The question was without preamble, but Orsino didn’t often stand on ceremony. Sebastian’s slow, surprised blink — _dark eyelashes settling briefly on slightly-flushed cheeks, is it too hot in here? oh, I agree_ — was well worth the bluntness.

“You mean my accent. Well… yes, more or less.”

“Do all from Starkhaven _look_ like you?”

Here Sebastian exhaled, his tongue slipping out to whet his lips. It was almost a look of exasperation, but the look he pegged Orsino with — _lyrium-blue eyes, like a drug waiting to be ingested, a desire demon waiting in the wings_ — was appraising.  
 _Appraising._ He was being sized up. For the first time in years, he was being sized up.

“Do all first enchanters speak so shamelessly?” The accent was deeper now, his voice lower, a certain wickedness arching his eyebrow and curving his lips. Orsino had seen it coming from the moment Sebastian had slipped in front of him to block his path — the rogue’s smirk, the mark of a man who followed all the rules whilst never forsaking his own.

 _A bow,_ Orsino thought suddenly just as he closed the distance between them, a challenge if nothing else, to see whether that rogue’s smirk would hold or whether the Chantry had sunk their claws in too deeply. But Sebastian did him one better, reaching out lightning-quick to grab hold of his secret flesh under the folds of the robe before crushing his lips against Orsino’s. _He wields a— oh, dear **Maker** —_


End file.
